


Doctor Who and Torchwood Reader-Insert Collection

by TheDoctorsCaptain



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDoctorsCaptain/pseuds/TheDoctorsCaptain
Summary: Exactly what it sounds like. A collection of Doctor Who and Torchwood stories where the reader (you) has your own adventures with your favorite characters. If you have a request, leave it in the comments and it will be uploaded soon.





	1. Jack Harkness/Reader: Welcome to Torchwood

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few ideas of my own to get started but as soon as I start getting requests, those will be the only prompts I write. Request any scenario you want and I'll do my very best to meet your needs. Non-request comments are always welcome! If I know I'm doing a good job I'll keep writing more!

                  You had screwed up before but never this badly. You had finally gotten away from home and moved to Cardiff like you had always wanted. You rented a flat, had a pleasant job at a local coffee shop, and lived in relative peace and quiet.

                  But that all changed when you saw the man in the long coat.

                  It was your night to close the shop down when he ran by. It wasn't odd to see joggers late at night in Cardiff, but this man wasn't a jogger. Most joggers you'd seen didn't run with a vintage-looking wool coat. The man looked like he was running from someone.

                 "Hey!" You shouted. The man didn't slow his pace or give any indication that he had heard you. Shoving the shop keys in your sidebag, you took off after him, black Chucks slapping against the pavement. Soon you had reached an unfamiliar part of the city, with barely any streetlights and endless alleys.

                  He turned a corner ahead of you and you lost sight of him as you sprinted to keep up. Suddenly, there were sounds of a scuffle. You heard a snarling and then a loud shout of pain. Finally, you reached where you saw the man disappear and stumbled to a halt at the carnage before you. 

                  The man was sprawled on the ground in front of you, blood still pumping from the gaping wound in his neck. From the blood already soaked into his shirt and pooling on the ground around him, you knew there was no way he was going to make it. You fell to your knees beside him, wanting to comfort him before he died. It was then that you got a good look of him. He had light brown hair laying in a spiky fringe over his forehead. You longed to reach out touch it, but you held yourself back. His eyes, which were only half open, were a light blue. He reached his hand out weakly to you, and after a slight hesitation, you held it tightly. His lips moved but no sound came out. 

                  You watched then as the life faded from his blue eyes and his hand fell limp in yours. You hadn't realized you were crying until a tear fell on to his face. You wiped your eyes suddenly feeling ridiculous. You shouldn't be crying, you didn't even know him. 

                  Suddenly, the man let out a strangled gasp, eyes flying open, and he locked his fingers around your wrist. Screaming, you tried to scramble backwards but his grip was too tight. 

                  "What...how..." you stumbled over your words as the man lay on the ground, chest heaving. "You were dead. I  _know_ you were dead. There was blood and you weren't breathing and-"

>           "Where is it?" The man asked sharply, locking his blue eyes with your (e/c) ones. 
> 
>           "What?"

                  "The thing that killed me. Where is it?" The man released your arm and stood, still covered in his own blood. It wasn't until he pulled you to your feet that you noticed that you were too. 

                  "Who are you?" You asked. Your voice sounded small. 

                  The man grinned, and you saw that despite the blood streaking his face, he was incredibly attractive. 

                  "Captain Jack Harkness," he said shaking your hand that he still held. "And who are you?"

                  "Um, (f/n) (l/n)," you answered uncertainly. 

                  "Nice to meet you, (f/l) (l/n)." His smile grew even wider and you felt yourself blush. "Look you need to get out of here. It's not safe."

                  "What? No! Not until you tell me what the hell just happened!" 

                  "Nothing happened," the man, Jack, said firmly. "Just forget it and go back to your life."

                  You opened your mouth to protest further but then you were yanked away from Jack by your arm. You felt and heard a loud popping in your shoulder and let out a scream. Before Jack could even move to help, you were roughly thrown into a wall, smashing the back of your head on the brick. You collapsed to the ground and lay on your side. Your eyesight was fuzzy and there was a ringing in your ears. What you saw in front you didn't make any sense. It looked like Jack was wrestling with another person but their face was.....wrong. Jack shoved something against the neck of the creature and it fell. Then he was above you in seconds. He had a hand up to his ear and was seemed to be talking to someone, although you didn't see anyone around.

                   "Look at me," he said to you. You felt a warm hand on your cheek. "I've got you, alright?" You tried to nod, but it hurt too much. Jack lifted you in his arms with your good shoulder pressed into his chest. "Just relax," he murmured in your ear. You settled into his arms and laid your throbbing head against his shoulder.

 

                    You felt your consciousness slipping away and closed your eyes. Before you had completely drifted though, you heard him whisper,

 

                    "Welcome to Torchwood, (f/n) (l/n)."                  


	2. Tenth Doctor/Reader: Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon returning to the TARDIS after an ill-fated adventure, the Doctor notices scars on the Reader's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kind of a dark chapter. This is also a very personal issue to me and something that I am currently struggling with. For all of you out there that have fought this same battle, this one's for you. If you are easily triggered by this kind of stuff, please skip this chapter. Cheers! <3

     "Next time I tell you to run, RUN!" The Doctor lectures as he half carries you into the med-bay of the TARDIS. 

     "Well, if I had known that I'd be running for my life from the Slitheen, I would have worn different shoes!" You retorted. "And I thought this was supposed to be an 'educationally exciting' trip to Raxacona-wherever."

     "Raxacoricofallapatorius", the Doctor grumbled. "And it  _was_ educational! Because from now on, you're only going to be wearing trainers." 

     Despite the burning in your forearm and the throbbing in your ankle, you couldn't help but laugh. "You sure? I thought the trainers were your thing." 

     The Doctor grinned too. "Well, as opposed to those torture devices on your feet, I'd be more than happy to make an exception," he said, motioning to your heeled boots. 

     When you both reached the med-bay, he helped you limp over to the table to sit while he bounced around gathering supplied from various cabinets. He came back to your side and dumped the bandages and meds on the table next to you.

     "Right then!" He said brightly. "I'm going to give you a quick shot of some painkillers to help numb things up a bit, then I'll take a look at at that arm."

     "You're the doctor, Doctor," you said with a grin. You took off your torn and bloody jacket and sat there in your t-shirt while the Doctor prepared a syringe. He expertly injected the medicine in your upper arm and then began to tear open packets of antiseptic wipes. 

     "They've certainly got some functional claws, don't they?" The Doctor mused out loud as he carefully wiped the blood off of your arm and hand. You enjoyed the feeling of the Doctor holding your hand in his own, something he did quite frequently when you both were running for your lives. But this time, was different. You watched the look of concentration on his face as he cleaned the gash. You loved the way his spiky hair seemed to defy gravity and you held yourself back from testing to see if it was really as soft as it looked. 

      Suddenly, his expression went from focused to concerned. "(f/n), what's this?" He asked sharply. 

     "What's what?" You were confused. Looking down at your arm, you immediately saw what the problem was and felt a heavy feeling in your stomach. You tried to pull away but the Doctor held your wrist in a firm grip. "It's nothing," you said quickly. "Really. It's just.....nothing." 

     The Doctor ran the tips of his fingers lightly across the dozens of scars crisscrossing your wrists and forearm, his frown growing. Some of the scars were deeper than others, and some of the slices had not yet healed. "Why?" He whispered. "Why would you do this?" 

     "Because there's something wrong with me, in my head." You answered immediately. "Because sometimes I just can't handle it anymore. And when I do it, I just......"  You stopped. Trying to put into words how it felt. The release that it gave you. The way it made you feel in control of your pain and all the other emotions that were trapped inside of you. "Because when I do it, it makes me  _feel_ something."

     Finally, the Doctor raised his head and his dark brown eyes locked on yours. You braced yourself for him to get angry. To yell at you. But instead, what you saw in his eyes wasn't anger; it was pain and tears. "Oh my brilliant, brilliant (f/n)," he murmured.

     He cupped your cheek as he sat next to you on the table and gathered you to him. You tried to push him away at first, not wanting the pity, but then you curled into his side. His arms wrapped around you as your body began to shake with suppressed sobs.

     He rocked you back and forth, trying to quell the conflict he could feel inside of you. The TARDIS, too, could feel your agony and hummed quietly around you, offering comfort. 

     "May I try something?" He asked quietly. You lifted your tear stained face and swallowed before nodding slightly. He gave you a comforting smile before lifting a hand and gently pressing his fingertips against your temples. You felt him pressing at your mind and taking a deep breath, you lowered your mental shields. 

      _You are not worthless._  

     You heard his voice inside your head. 

      _You are not weak. You are beautiful and brilliant._

     The Doctor slid his hand down your cheek, wiping away your tears. "As long as I'm around," he said softly, "you will  _never_ be alone again. I promise." 

     


	3. Ninth Doctor/Reader: Night Stroll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One night, the Doctor finds his companion wandering around the TARDIS unable to sleep.

     You flopped over onto your back, trying to get comfortable. You hated when this happened, when you were exhausted but unable to sleep. The hum of the TARDIS around you, which was annoying at first, was now a soothing sound. Looking up at the ceiling, you tried to force your hyperactive mind to relax. When that failed, you kicked your (f/c) comforter off of you and swung your legs off your bed. The floor was warm under your feet and after debating whether or not to put on shoes, you decided to go barefoot. It's not like the TARDIS would have rusty nails laying around or something.

     Padding out into the hallway in your shorts and tank top, you paused for a moment and then went right. As you walked, you trailed your hand along the walls, enjoying the always-present feeling of the TARDIS. When you first started traveling with the Doctor, his time machine liked to play tricks on you by switching the hallways from your bedroom to the console every time you tried to get there. But she soon came to love the Doctor's newest companion.

     You loved the old ship as well and took pleasure in her company as you wandered down the endless halls, the TARDIS quietly guiding your path. You didn't how long you had been walking for, it could have been minutes or hours.

     As you walked, you thought about everything and nothing. And you also thought about the Doctor. When you had ran into him (quite literally) on your way to work, you saw a tall man in a battered leather jacket with goofy ears. When he asked where you were going in such a hurry, you hesitated to tell him anything because you didn't know him. But there was something about his warm smile and clear, blue eyes. You didn't know why, and you still didn't know now, but a small voice in your head whispered that you could trust the man in front of you. 

     You smiled to yourself as you remembered the triumphant way he would grin and shout fantastic before breaking into a sprint and forcing you to keep up. But there was something dark about the man you traveled with. Something dark  _inside_ of him. You knew he would never do anything to hurt you, but you could also sense that he had hurt people in that long life of his. You could see the guilt in his eyes that he revealed when he thought you weren't looking. You had thought about asking what was troubling him, but you also knew that he could brood like nobody's business when it came to talking about his past. 

     Soon, you recognized a familiar hallway. The vast, dome-shaped console room with its great coral arches never failed to impress you, no matter how many times you walked into it. You loved the feeling of the TARDIS pulsing and humming all around you. After walking around the perimeter, you made your way to the main console in the centre of the room and absentmindedly ran your hand across the strange controls.

     "And who exactly said you could play with my TARDIS?" 

     You jumped back from the console, your face bright red. "Oh....um....sorry, I was just," you stammered out an apology, trying not to let your guilt show. But your voice trailed off when you saw the grin that the Doctor was suppressing. 

     "Is everything alright? You weren't thinking about leaving, were you?" He asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. 

     You blinked and then smiled sheepishly. "Oh, no! Never! I just couldn't sleep." 

     "Ah." The Doctor made his way over to the battered seat and motioned for you to join him. You sat next to him, bringing your legs to your chest and resting your chin on your knees. You could feel his eyes on you as you kept yours on the console. "What's wrong?" The Doctor asked after a few minutes of silence. You just shrugged. "You're missing home, aren't you." His tone was laced with realization, and you could tell he wasn't asking a question. 

     "Yeah, a bit," you admitted softly. 

     "Home," he repeated, his voice quiet and you turned to look at him. His face was illuminated in the dim room by the soft green light of the time rotor and his eyes seemed ancient and far away. "There's times when it seems so insignificant and small, and then later you realize it's so much more than that." The Doctor's voice was so raw and full of pain that it made your heart ache for him. But suddenly, he brightened and his grin was back. "Tell you what (y/n) first thing tomorrow, we'll take a trip down to Earth for fresh chips and coffee. How does that sound?" 

     You smiled back. "I think that sounds  _fantastic_!" 

     

 

    

 

     


	4. Ianto Jones/Reader: Wash It All Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, the Reader is present for the events in the Torchwood episode Cyberwoman. When Ianto Jones breaks, it is the Reader who puts him back together again. Just a dash of Jack/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not NEARLY enough Ianto/Reader inserts.....so I decided to do something about that :)

     "(y/n)! My office.  _Now_." You flinched at the harshness of Jack's words coming from his office across the hub. With a sigh, you pushed your chair back from your desk and stood. As you walked up the stairs to Jack's office, you passed Gwen who was just coming out of it. She squeezed your shoulder and smiled encouragingly. You tried to smile back but you were too anxious about what was waiting for you at the top of the stairs. You had no idea what Gwen and Jack had been talking about but whatever it was, it involved a tremendous amount of shouting from both sides and from the look on Jack's face, the conversation topic had done nothing to improve his mood. 

     "Sit," he said simply from behind his desk. "And close the door behind you." You complied and tried to steady your breathing. "If I had my way, you would have been retconned and sent home an hour ago."

     "So what's stopping you?" The quip came out before you could stop yourself. As pissed as you were, this probably wasn't the best situation to back talk your boss. 

     "Gwen," was all he said. "She convinced me to give you another chance." You felt a wave of gratitude towards the wide-eyed Welshwoman and made a mental note to thank her later. "But you and I are still going to discuss the issue of disobeying a direct order."

      Despite the amount of trouble you were in, you couldn't help but snap, "You're right. I did disobey. I refused to help you murder the woman that Ianto loved."

      Anger flashed in Jack's eyes. "That  _woman_ almost killed my entire team. And if she had gotten out of the hub, she would have killed everyone in this city. She was a monster that needed to be put down."

      You felt the anger building inside of yourself too. "And what about Ianto?" You asked softly. "Is he a monster too? Is that why you put a gun to his head?" 

      "Enough." Jack's voice was deadly calm. "I'm giving you a three day suspension. When you come back, if you fail to follow my orders again, there will be nothing Gwen can say to me that will save you. As for Ianto, he has his own punishment coming for the crimes he has committed against this organization."

      You stood abruptly. "Well then," you said as sweetly as you could. "I guess I'll be seeing you in three days,  _Captain_." You spun around and slammed the door to his office loud enough that everyone in the hub looked up from whatever repairs they were making to see what happened. You stopped at Gwen's desk.

      "Thank you," you said quietly. Her smile was warm as she looked up at you. 

      "I don't blame you for what you did. And you certainly don't deserve to be retconned for showing mercy. He gave you a suspension then?"

      You nodded. "Yeah, three days."

      "Try to enjoy the time off," Gwen said with a laugh. "What are you going to do now?"

      You looked down at your feet. "I'm gonna take Ianto home." When you looked up again, Gwen was giving you a look of pure adoration. 

      "I think that's a brilliant idea," she said softly. You heard the silent plea to take care of him in her voice and you nodded once, letting her know that was exactly what you intended to do.  

 

 

 

      As you made your way down to the basement, Ianto's broken sobs began to echo down the corridor. When you finally reached him, what you saw nearly tore your heart in two. Ianto was kneeling in a pool of blood, crimson covering his hands, suit, and face. His head was lowered and his shoulders heaved with every sob that wracked his body. He sat alone, the bodies of Lisa and the poor pizza girl having long since been disposed of. After watching him silently for a few moments you silently made your way over to his side. He didn't resist as you took his hands in yours and pulled him to his feet, allowing him to lean heavily on you. You wrapped your arms around his torso to support his larger frame.

      "C'mon," you whispered softly. "It's time to go home." He stayed silent as you led him up to the hub. As the two of you made your way to the door, not one person made eye contact with you or Ianto. Although you didn't turn around, you could feel Jack's eyes watching you from his office.

      The short ride to Ianto's was silent and you stole sideways glances at him as you drove. Staring blankly ahead, it seemed that he had run out of tears to shed.

      When you arrived at your tiny flat, you kicked off your shoes and guided Ianto to your reasonably sized bathroom. You stood there for a moment unsure of how to continue with what you planned. Finally, you took a deep breath and tugged off his ruined jacket and tossed it next the door. It took you a minute to get his off, for it was expertly knotted. Then, you reached out and with a gentle touch, began to unbutton his dress shirt. As you slipped it off it his shoulders, your fingers brushed his pale skin and you saw that the blood had soaked through his clothes. The tie and shirt soon joined his jacket on the floor. 

      As you worked on stripping him, Ianto watched you, but didn't make any moves to help. His light blue eyes were filled with raw, unconcealed agony and you wished more than anything in the world that you could take it away from him. 

      You bit your lip as you looked down at his trousers. They were filthy and unarguably needed to be thrown away, but you hesitated at seeing him naked. You finally settled on leaving him in his pants as you took the pile of dirty clothes and tossed them in your kitchen bin. On your way back to the bathroom, you pulled a large towel and a several flannels from your hall closet. Quietly shutting the bathroom door behind you out of habit, you laid them on the edge of the tub and guided Ianto to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. 

      Plugging up the sink, you turned on the hot water. When it was nearly full, you turned it back off and dunked a flannel in it. Squeezing out the excess water, you knelt down in front of Ianto, deciding where to start. You settled on his hands and took one in your own. Then you gently, but thoroughly, began to scrub the dried blood from his long fingers, stopping every minute or two to rinse the flannel in the sink.

      You worked slowly, making sure to leave no traces of the sticky residue. He lets you clean him without saying a word, but he does watch your face. As you're finishing his first hand, you want to say something to him, but have no idea what you could possibly say. However, Ianto solves the problem for you. 

      "You weren't there." His voice is so low and hoarse you almost miss it. You stopped scrubbing his hand in surprise and looked up at him.

      "What?"

      "You weren't there," Ianto repeated, his voice dull and devoid of emotion. "When they kil-" he choked off but then swallowed hard and started again. "When they killed her, you weren't there. Why?"

      Averting your eyes, you continued to clean his hand, slowly working your way up his arm. "When Jack told us to go in there, I couldn't do it," you answered softly. "I didn't know her, but I couldn't kill her. Not like that. It just didn't seem right."

      Ianto was silent for so long that you thought he was done talking but then he spoke again, sounding even more broken and tortured. "Why are you doing this? Helping me."

      You didn't answer right away. You couldn't tell him why. Or at least, not now. How could you tell the man in front of you that you loved him when he had just watched his girlfriend that he had hidden for months be killed right in front of him? "Ever since I joined Torchwood, you've been nothing but kind to me," you started cautiously. "Whenever I didn't know what to do or Owen was harassing me because I screwed something up, you were always right there to help." You risked looking up at him and found that he was staring at you intently. "But tonight," you continued, unsure of where your words were coming from. "Tonight there was no one to help  _you_." 

      You looked away again, slightly embarrassed. This was no time to be confessing feelings. You started to regret saying anything when his fingers suddenly tightened around yours. He said nothing as he watched you clean his skin while stopping occasionally to exchange your flannel for a clean one whenever it got too soiled. Despite the silence, he no longer seemed as distant as he had before. 

       By the time you had finished with his arms, the water in the sink was a bright crimson and you had to empty it out and refill it. When you knelt back down again, you started to clean the expanse of his chest. He was by no means ripped, but you could feel the lean muscle under his skin. You finished with his torso in minutes and were then left with only with the gash on his face. 

      You had tried not to make eye contact with him as much as possible, but for this it was unavoidable. Lifting a fresh flannel to his cheek, you began to wipe away the gore as gently as possible. Ianto stayed completely still, wincing only slightly when you cleaned the cut itself. Your face was close enough to his that you could feel his warm breath dancing across your lips. His eyes still held the same pain in them, but there was something else too now. He was watching you and your every move. 

       Finally, when you were sure that even the blood under his nails was gone, you regretfully pulled away from him and kicked the soiled cloths into a pile to toss later. 

      "Um, I'll be right back," you told him. Ianto looked up at you and nodded once. You tried to offer him a small smile before you slipped out the door. After digging through your closet, you found an over-sized t-shirt that was soft and worn from use. Returning to the bathroom, you helped Ianto pull the shirt over his head.

      "Sorry I don't have anything for you to wear on the bottom," you said with an apologetic smile. Ianto just nodded again and allowed you to take his hand and lead him into your room. Pulling back the covers, you helped him into bed and placed another blanket over him.

      "Try and get some sleep," you told him gently. "I'll be right outside if you need anything." You figured he would. No one could go through what he did and not be seriously messed up after. As you were about to turn away Ianto spoke again, his voice barely a whisper.

      "Will you stay?" When you looked back you saw the tears in his eyes that threatened to spill out. Even if you had wanted to, there was no way you could have possibly denied his request. "Yeah," you said. "Of course." You changed into your pajamas in the bathroom, leaving the mess to be cleaned up in the morning. 

      Crawling into bed beside the Welshman, you were unsure what to do next. Cautiously, Ianto moved closer to you. It was as if a barrier had been broken then, and you too, shifted over and wrapped your arms around the older man. After some adjusting, the two of you lay on your sides, face to face, curled in and around each other, dimly illuminated in the moonlight streaming through your bedroom window.

      "(y/n)," Ianto started, but he was unable to finish. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered. 

      "For what?" You asked softly. 

      "You almost died today. And it was my fault. Everything...all of it...it was all me." As he spoke, his breathing became more and more uneven, like he was hyperventilating.

      You gently shushed him and held him tighter. "You're right. I almost did die. But I'm still here. And so are you." Ianto opened his mouth but you kept talking before he could. "As much as you don't think you deserve to be, you are." In the soft moonlight, you saw a tear slide down his face. "I want you to know," your voice was barely a whisper now. "What you did, I would have done the same." 

      Nothing more was said then, nothing needed to be. Because now there was a different feeling in the air. You and Ianto had grown closer in the last two hours than you ever would have in two years.

      You both fell asleep some time after, safe and secure, wrapped in each others arms.

      


	5. Eleventh Doctor/Reader: Mood Swings and Bowties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a PMSing Reader on his hands. Fluff ensues.

   With a frustrated growl, you slammed the coffee pot back into the coffee maker you had been fighting for almost fifteen minutes and stood with your arms crossed pouting. 

   "Oi! What are you still doing in your pajamas?" The Doctor exclaimed, bounding into the enormous kitchen of the TARDIS. "We've got so much to explore today! Bet you've never even heard of the Jaxicolity system!" Suddenly, he froze and his smile was replaced with of horror. "What on earth happened to you  _hair_?" 

   "And what exactly is wrong with my hair?" You asked with scowl, feeling your cheeks grow warm at the messy knot you had thrown your (h/c) hair into. 

   The Doctor must have heard the warning note in your voice because he quickly smiled again. "Oh, no nothing! It looks quite lovely today!" Rolling your eyes and muttering under your breath, you directed your glare back to the coffee maker that refused to brew. After a few seconds, you snatched the tea kettle and put it on the stove to boil with a defeated sigh. 

   As you moodily prepared your mug the Doctor studied you. "Is everything alright?" he asked. You turned around, smiling widely. 

   "Yes, I'm just absolutely splendid this morning!" You said brightly, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course, I feel like my insides are being scooped out with a hot spoon, but that's not a problem at all! In fact, everything is just fine" By the time you had finished with your little outburst, you instantly felt bad because the look on the Doctor's face was one that you imagined a puppy would wear after you kicked it.  _He's only trying to help_ , you told yourself. Resting against the smooth granite counters, you closed your eyes and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry," you said, softening your tone. "It's just, I have really bad cramps this morning and I didn't really feel like spending the day running for my life from whatever aliens we'll somehow end up offending." 

   The Doctor just stared at you, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. "Oh," he said finally. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

   "I don't know," you said with a shrug. "I guess because I didn't want to make you miss out on something exciting because I was in a bad mood. And I also didn't really feel like explaining why I was in said bad mood." 

   "(Y/N)," the Doctor said, some of the know-it-all-ness that had become so endearing returned to his voice. "I am well aware of the human female menstruation cycle."

   Now it was  _your_ turn to feel awkward. This was  _not_ a conversation you had ever imagined having with the Time Lord, although you were a little relieved that you didn't have to explain anything. 

   "So, um, what would you like to do today?" The Doctor asked looking like he was prepared to run in the event of another mood swing. 

   "Well," you answered, feeling slightly annoyed again. "Some coffee would be nice, but your stupid coffee maker won't work." 

   The Doctor brightened at your problem. "Well why didn't you just say so?" He bounced to your side, pulling his sonic out of his tweed pocket and pointed it at the offended appliance with high buzzing. Withing seconds, the coffee pot was full and the kitchen was filled with the strong, distinct aroma. 

   "Oh, thank you!" You squealed, throwing your arms around the Doctor. You hated your monthly mood swings. One minute you wanted to strangle someone and then the next minute you wanted to cuddle with them forever. Blushing slightly, the Doctor patted you back. 

   "It's not that big of a deal, really." When you had finished making your drink, he took your hand. "I know exactly what we should do!" Before you had a chance to ask what, he had pulled you out the door and down a corridor, not running like usual but at a brisk pace, and your focus went to not spilling your hot coffee everywhere.

   Soon, he stopped outside of a seemingly random door and dragged you inside. You actually gasped when you saw what the room was. It was a library and it was massive. It seemed like it belonged in the Palace at Versailles, for it was old looking and elegant. Everything was a dark wood and the floor was tiled with maroon marble and huge tables with plush looking chairs were spread throughout the room. It reminded of the pictures you'd seen of the main reading room in the Library of Congress, except it stretched up five levels, with the shelves running so far back you couldn't see where they ended and the high, domed ceiling was a glittering night sky, complete with the occasional shooting star and the overall lighting was much darker and cozy looking. But the thing that really caught your attention was the gigantic marble Renaissance-looking fireplace against the farthest wall from the door. You could have easily stood inside of it and jumped up in down without coming anywhere near hitting your head if it hadn't been for the ridiculously large fire roaring inside.

  Before you could take off to explore, the Doctor had led you a long, high backed gothic sofa near the fireplace with intricate patterns carved into the black wood and plush, dark red velvet cushions. He gently pushed you down on the sofa and you sank down into it's welcoming embrace, enjoying the warmth of the fire. You had just realized that the Doctor had disappeared before he returned again carrying an armful of pillows and blankets, which he carefully arranged around you before bounding off out of the library again. You started to get worried after a few minutes before he came back with a tray. 

   Placing the tray on the mahogany Victorian-esque coffee table in front of the sofa, you saw that there was a heaping bowl of chocolate ice cream and another plate of chocolate biscuits. 

  "Doctor, what is this?" You couldn't help but giggle as he turned around, his eyes wide as if he'd been accused of doing something wrong. 

  "Well, it was to my knowledge that when young women are pre-menstruating, they have cravings for chocolate and soft pillows," he answered. "Why, what's wrong? Is there something else you're craving? Because if there is, I ca-"

  "Doctor!" You were fully laughing now, surprisingly touched by his sweet intentions. "Doctor, this is  _perfect_. Thank you." He grinned, looking extremely proud of himself. 

  "Now, what movie would you like to watch?" He inquired, hurrying to a nearby bookcase behind you that was filled with every movie title you'd ever heard of. 

  "A movie?" You asked, twisting around in your seat to watch him. "But where are we going to-" He smiled again and pointed behind you. When you looked, you saw the biggest flatscreen you had ever seen in your life was mounted above the marble mantle of the fireplace. The way that the TARDIS made things appear and disappear whenever she liked never ceased to amaze you. "Oh," you finished. "There." You turned to look at the Doctor again, trying to think of what you were in the mood for. "Hmmm," you mused out loud. "Do you have Star Wars?" 

  The Doctor scanned the shelves in response before holding up a multi-DVD case triumphantly. "I do hope you're up to having a marathon," he announced. "Although, would you mind not watching the first three?" 

  Laughing, you nodded happily. "Oh god, of course I don't mind."

 Although he looked visibly relieved, you saw him shudder as he walked by you and put the first DVD into the player. "Jar-Jar Binks," he mumbled to himself in fear. He heard you snort and looked at you indignantly. "What? That half-witted imbecile is most foul alien I've ever seen!" At that comment, you broke out into uncontrollable laughter while he looked on in disbelief. 

  "Yes," you finally gasped, wiping away the tears. "Yes, he is."

  The Doctor pressed play on the DVD player before moving to sit next to you on the couch a good foot away, giving you space. He sat stiffly, as if he wasn't sure what to do next. As the familiar opening theme filled the library and the opening crawl moved up the screen, he looked between you and the movie before awkwardly opening his arms, giving you a silent invitation. Still wrapped in the cocoon of blankets he had put around you, and smiling at how sweetly awkward the Time Lord was, you scooted closer to him and into his waiting arms. 

   Settling back against his chest, you rested your head in the crook of his neck and his arms curled around you, not too tightly, but not halfheartedly either. It was such intimate contact, yet there was nothing dirty or inappropriate about it. Instead, it made you safe and warm. When he lightly rested his cheek against the top of your head and entwined his long fingers around yours, you didn't think there were any words in any language you knew of that could have possibly described your happiness.   

  


	6. Tenth Doctor/Reader: Tell Me A Story?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader has a nightmare and the Doctor comforts her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fic that I had written a few months ago that I decided to post until I can finish the latest request

The Doctor sighed as he dragged a hand through his spiky brown hair. He was in the console room, alone except for the familiar humming of the TARDIS around him. He patted the controls lovingly, patiently waiting as his companion was resting. As much as he loved humans, he didn’t understand why they needed to sleep so much.

Humming to himself, he absently twirled his sonic around. Suddenly, a scream broke through silence. The Doctor jumped to his feet. (Y/N) , he thought. He ran down the hall, his white hightops pounding against the floor, desperate to get to his companion and save her from whatever made her let loose that horrible noise. 

Upon reaching her door, he shook the handle only to find that it was locked. Quickly pointing his sonic at the lock, he heard it click open, burst through the door and did a complete circle. But he saw nothing. Confused, he rested his gaze on Y/N for the first time.   
What he saw broke both of his hearts. She laid there in her bed, curled on her side. Her entire body shook with sobs. Relaxing only slightly, the Doctor realized that the only threat in the room was the ones brought by sleep. Unsure of himself, the Doctor walked forward and knelt down next to the bed. 

“(Y/N),” he said softly. “(Y/N), it’s ok. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay now.” But she showed no signs of hearing him. Biting his lip, the Doctor laid a hand on her shoulder. “(Y/N). Look at me.” He slipped his other hand under her chin and gently turned it up to make her face him. Her normally bright (e/c) eyes were filled with a pain and fear that he had never seen in them before. 

“Doctor.” 

Her voice was broken and rough. 

“It was so real,” she choked softly. “It was all so real and I-” She cut off as a new wave of sobs wracked her body. 

She felt a pressure on the bed as the Doctor settled himself next to her on top of the covers. Sitting with his back against the headboard, he pulled her head to his lap. Making sure that the dark blue quilt was wrapped snugly around her, he began to rub soothing circles on her back with his fingers. Gradually, she calmed down at his touch, but silent tears still ran down her cheeks. He tucked a strand of her (h/c) hair behind her ear and continued to stroke the soft curls. 

The Doctor knew all too well what it was like to wake up screaming in the night. But he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to comfort her, make her feel safe. As he slowly rocked her body back and forth, he tried to think of reassuring words. 

“Doctor?”

The question was so quiet the Doctor almost didn’t hear it.

“Yes, love?”

“Will you tell me a story?”

The Doctor sat in surprised silence. 

“What kind of story?”

(Y/N) thought a moment. “What’s the most beautiful planet you’ve ever been to?”

The Doctor felt a flare of pain in his chest. Gallifrey, he answered in his head. Memories flashed through his mind. But he couldn’t let (Y/N) down. He looked up at the ceiling where she had stuck plastic stars and chuckled. 

“Well,” he started, gazing at the faintly glowing shapes. Suddenly, he got an idea. He took his sonic once again from his suit coat pocket and pointed it at the ceiling. A few moments later, the entire light blue plaster surface of the ceiling had been replaced with a real view of the night sky. 

Sparkling constellations winked in the inky darkness. In the corner, two huge moons bathed the bedroom in a soft light. Here and there, a few shooting stars whizzed across the room.   
The Doctor grinned at his creation and looked down at (Y/N). Her eyes had regained that familiar shine and a faint smile played at her lips. But then her eyebrows knit together.

“I don’t know any of these stars.”  
The Doctor’s smile turned sad. “That’s because you’re not looking at them from Earth.”

She looked at him questioningly. 

The Doctor took a shaky breath. “This is Gallifrey. My home.” 

And for the first time in centuries, the Doctor told the story of his home planet. 

As he spoke, (Y/N) curled into his side and slipped into a peaceful sleep, filled with dreams of endless red fields under a deep, orange sky.


	7. Jack Harkness/Tenth Doctor/Reader: Let Us In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and the Doctor see scars on the reader's arms and decide to step in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written from a request. 
> 
> This is similar to a previous chapter, which deals with self-harm. As I said at the beginning of that chapter, this is an issue that I have/am struggling with. If any of you readers out there can relate to this, I hope that this will bring you some hope and comfort. <3

Sitting cross-legged against the headboard of your bed with your arms resting palms up on your knees, you stared numbly at your latest handiwork. Fresh slashes decorated your skin, mixed in with old and still healing scars. Some of the cuts were deeper than others, with dark ruby droplets still trickling out of them. 

 

You had done it again. You promised yourself you wouldn’t, and yet you did. But of course you did. 

 

Because you were weak.

 

The TARDIS had rumbled her disapproval when you pulled your little wooden box out of your nightstand. Her intensity grew as you ran the shining blade across your skin, but now the gentle humming around you was only intended to bring you what comfort she could.

 

A knock on your door broke you out of your reverie and a wave of panic washed over you as you hastily shoved down the sleeves of your zip up hoodie. Telling yourself to just act natural towards whoever it was, you padded over to the door and pulled it open to reveal Jack leaning against the door frame. 

 

His usual trousers and dress shirt had been replaced with a plain white t-shirt, which showed off his arms quite nicely, and a pair of form fitting, dark grey sweatpants.

 

“Jack?” You glanced behind you at your clock, which read 11:10 PM. “What are you doing here?”

 

He shrugged and his lips drew up into that roguish half-grin that drove you mad. “Couldn’t sleep. I thought maybe I’d stop by and see you wanted to have some fun.” 

 

“Fun,” you repeated. “What kind of fun?” 

 

“Whatever kind you want,” he said with a wink.

 

Under normal circumstances, you would have been blushing uncontrollably. But this time, you just wanted him to leave so you could get back to hating yourself in isolation. 

 

“I don’t know, Jack,” you started, desperately thinking of a way to get rid of him and his 51st century pheromones. 

 

As you spoke, his blue eyes drifted down to take in your legs, which were uncovered but you pajama shorts. You felt warmth spreading into your cheeks under his gaze. Truth be told, you would have  _ loved _ to have some fun with Jack in your room, but not now. You couldn’t let him see what you’d just done to yourself. 

 

“Hmm...” he mused with a single raised eyebrow. “Maybe I could convince you?” 

 

Chuckling nervously, you reached up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. Suddenly, Jack’s eyes lowered to your arm and he frowned. “Is that blood?” 

 

_ Shit _ .

 

You followed his gaze and tried to act surprised. “Oh. Huh, I guess it is.” 

 

Before you could change the subject, he took a step closer to you and locked his fingers around your wrist, sending searing pain shooting up your arm. The wince that you tried to hide didn’t escape his notice and his eyebrows knit together in deep concern. 

 

“Jack,” you said weakly, tears pressing behind your eyes. 

  
All the seductive playfulness disappeared from his face as he slowly pulled up your sleeve. You felt nausea churning in your stomach when he inhaled sharply.

 

You tried to tug away from him but he wouldn’t let you go. 

 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, taking in the gore. The fabric of your sleeve had smeared the fresh blood, leaving your arm coated in a sticky mess.

 

You couldn’t bear the sadness and horror written across his face any longer and the tears of shame began streaming down your face.

 

Instantly, Jack’s arms were around you, pulling you tightly to him. He didn’t say anything, just held you close as your body shook with sobs.

 

A few minutes later another knock, this one much softer, came on the partially closed door. The Doctor, his brown hair looking even more out of control than usual, poked his head into your room. 

 

“Is everything alright in here? I thought I heard-” He broke off at the sight of your tear-stained face and blood-covered arms. “Oh my.” 

 

You began to cry even harder. Now you’d done it. The two men that you loved more than anything in the galaxy now knew just how weak and pathetic you were. 

 

“Oh, (Y/N),” he murmured, rushing to your side. Not being able to stand what was happening, you sagged to the floor. 

 

The Doctor was there by your side in a heartbeat, his legs folded underneath him as he pulled you into his lap.

You heard Jack move quickly into your bathroom and the sound of cabinets being opened and closed.

 

“Oh, (Y/N),” The Doctor kept whispering over and over again as he rocked you slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I should have seen it sooner.” 

 

Within a minute or two, footsteps approached and Jack knelt down holding bandages. 

 

The Doctor ceased his rocking only long enough to help Jack unzip your hoodie, leaving you in just a tank top. 

 

Wordlessly, Jack began cleaning your arms with a warm flannel. When there was no longer any traces of blood, he dabbed antiseptic on each wound, making sure it was spread out evenly. His touch was so incredibly gentle and comforting that between him and the Doctor, you felt yourself calming down. 

 

After he was satisfied that there was no chance of infection, Jack took a roll of gauze and carefully wrapped up each arm from wrist to elbow, securing the ends neatly with medical tape. 

 

Briefly heading back into the bathroom to throw away the bloody flannel, he returned with a new one and knelt back down once more in front of you. This time he took your chin in one hand as he gently wiped your face until it was tear free. 

 

Simply tossing it into the bathroom behind him, he then slid his arms under your knees and arms and lifted you up. The Doctor moved to your bed and pulled back the covers so Jack could place you underneath them. 

 

You thought for certain they would leave, but then Jack also got into bed with you, positioning himself so that you were facing each other,  while the Doctor kicked off his high-tops and peeled off his suit until he was in his boxers and an undershirt. The other side of the bed dipped and then you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

 

“Why don’t you hate me?” You whispered, finally breaking the silence.

 

The sadness in Jack’s eyes grew and the Doctor tightened his grip. 

 

“How could we possibly hate you?” Jack wondered.

 

You averted your gaze. “Because I do this to myself.” 

 

Jack placed a  finger under your chin, gently but insistently forcing you to look him in the face. “ _ Did _ ,” he corrected. “Never again are we going to let you do this.” 

 

“What?” 

 

The Doctor’s lips brushed against your neck as he whispered, “From now on, we’re going to be here to fix you when you feel like you’re broken. We  _ will _ put you back together, but (Y/N), you gotta let us in.”

 

You curled even closer into their combined warmth, feeling safe and secure for the first time in so long. 

 

The last thing you were aware of before drifting into the embrace of sleep was a gentle kiss being pressed against your forehead. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Owen Harper/Reader: Kept At An Arm's Length

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader and Owen are far from friends; both keeping to themselves and hesitant to let others in. But when the Reader gets injured, both she and Owen see a side of the other that had previously been kept hidden.

“For the love of God, newbie!” 

 

You flinched at the hostility in Owen’s voice as your hip bumped into the autopsy table, sending a tray of sharp metal instruments clattering to the floor. Bending over to pick them up with apologies spilling out of your mouth, you tried to ignore the burning in your cheeks. 

 

“I’ve got it,” he snarled, snatching up a scalpel before your fingers could close around it. “Just go back upstairs or something. I don’t really care where.” 

 

You quickly straightened, grateful to have a reason to get away from the angry doctor.  

 

“And watch where you’re going, yeah?” He called as you hurried up the steps. 

 

Tosh smiled at you sympathetically from her computer. “Don’t mind him, Y/N.” 

 

“I don’t get it,” you sighed, sitting heavily into the chair by your desk. “I’ve been here for almost a year and he won’t stop calling me newbie.” 

 

Gwen chuckled from her own desk across the Hub. “Better get used to it, love. He called me that almost right until you showed up. That among other things.” 

 

“But like just now,” you complained. “I knocked something over and from his reaction you’d think I kicked his dog. So is he always like this or what?” 

 

“I think he’s just having a bad day,” Tosh answered, typing away rapidly. It amazed you how the petite Japanese woman could carry on a conversation while her fingers were flying across her keyboard. 

 

“Oh no,” Ianto corrected, appearing beside you and placing a steaming mug on your desk. “He’s always like this.” 

 

You sighed again before raising the mug to your lips and taking a sip of the hot coffee. Perfect, as always. 

 

You didn’t understand why it bothered you so much. You didn’t have a problem with any of your other coworkers, so why was Owen the only exception? 

 

Sure, Gwen could be bossy and act like she was more important than she actually was, but she did her best to make you feel included. Maybe Tosh could make you feel a bit slow at times when you had to ask her to explain something that the others seemed to understand perfectly, but she was always kind to you. 

 

And of course Jack was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but there was something else about him. As playful and flirtatious as he was, there were times when you felt that he knew things about you that you would have preferred to keep hidden. 

 

Ianto was your favourite; quiet and softspoken, but also witty and sharp-tongued as he had proved on numerous occasions. Whenever you had no work to do for Jack, you usually were down in the archives with Ianto helping him organize the seemingly infinite records that Torchwood had on file. 

 

You like spending time with him. Unlike the others, you didn’t mind opening up to him a bit when you were down there alone. He could tell that there were parts of your life that were painful and he never pushed you to tell more than you willing to share. 

 

But then there was Doctor Owen Harper. Cold, sarcastic Owen Harper. God, he infuriated you. Always snapping his answers to your questions and rolling his eyes whenever you needed clarification on Torchwood terminology. 

 

And yet, despite how frequently as he made you want to punch him in the face, there was a part of you that kept trying to be his friend. You knew close to nothing about him and the two of you had never exchanged any words that weren’t defensive or fueled by anger. But there was something about him, a look he got in his eyes when he thought no one was watching, that made you think perhaps he wasn’t that different than you. 

 

You were both withdrawn, that much was certain, and tried to avoid talking about yourselves whenever you could. Additionally, you both preferred to work on your own rather than collaborate with others, a characteristic that had put you two at ends more than once. 

 

Silently, you watched as Owen walked by your desk without even a sideways glance. Ignoring the mug of coffee Ianto had left for him, he carelessly flopped into his chair and kicked his feet up on his desk. 

 

Not really knowing what else you should do, you half-heartedly began fiddling with the small, alien puzzle box Tosh had given you for your birthday a month ago. Suddenly, Jack emerged from his office and strode down the steps that led to the main floor of the Hub. 

 

“Pack up kids, we’ve got a werewolf on the loose near Lleweni Stables in Denbighshire,” he declared with a grin and accepting his military overcoat from Ianto. 

 

You frowned at Jack’s enthusiasm. “Werewolves are aliens?” You asked Gwen in disbelief as she passed your desk.

 

“Well no, not exactly.” She thought for a moment. “What people call ‘werewolves’ are actually a type of shapeshifter which, yes, are aliens. This particular kind specifically takes the form of a wolf so we’ve just taken to calling them werewolves like everyone else, even though we know what they really are.”

“Ohhh.” You raised your eyebrows and nodded your head, trying to make it look like you got it, but still a bit confused. 

 

Following Jack’s order, you removed your handgun from your desk drawer and tucked it into the waistband of your jeans, so that it sat snugly against the small of your back, before tugging your blouse over it. Looking up to grab your (F/C) canvas jacket, you noticed Jack watching you with an amused smirk on his face at your preferred method of weapon concealment. Blushing, you gave him a shy smile while shrugging your shoulders.  

 

When the necessary gear had been packed, everyone, with the exception of Ianto who would be staying behind to keep an eye on the Hub, lugged it to the SUV and loaded it in the back. 

 

“Did the bugger honestly have to choose Denbighshire?” Owen complained as he threw his medical bag into the boot. “It’ll take us all night to even get there.” 

 

“Not if I’m driving,” Jack promised. “I can get us there before ten. Now shut up and get your skinny ass in the car.” 

 

Owen rolled his eyes muttering under his breath about what he suspected Jack wanted to do with his skinny ass. “Fine, but I’m riding shotgun.” 

 

“Oh come on, Owen,” Tosh protested. “You had it last time.” 

 

Owen smiled at her and if it hadn’t been him, it would have seemed almost friendly. “I know I did. But I don’t particularly feel like having my legs crammed in the back with you lot.”

 

With that, he slammed the passenger door shut leaving you, Tosh, and Gwen to pile in the backseat. You got the window behind the driver’s seat and leaned your forehead against the cool glass, watching the passing scenery as twilight settled upon the rolling hills while Jack drove out of the city.

 

You admired the beauty of the Welsh landscapes, which seemed both mysterious and inviting in the darkness. You half-listened to the banter going on between the team, mostly Owen and Gwen, content to simply observe the interaction rather than join in yourself. 

 

It was about seven when you had left the Hub, and true to his word, Jack reached the crumbling structure at quarter past ten. 

 

You flicked your torch on and off experimentally while you waited for everyone to gather around the SUV. 

“Alright,” Jack announced, checking the chamber of his Webley. “Locals have reported Fluffy sightings around here and howls coming from inside. We’ll split up and have a look around; Y/N, you’ll go with Gwen inside and Tosh, you’ll be searching the grounds with Owen.” Tosh tried to meet Owen’s eye but he pointedly rolled his. 

 

“This place is old and unfortunately, wood doesn’t make the best building material after a few hundred years,” Jack continued while pointing at you and Gwen. “So I want the two of you to be extremely careful where you walk on the floorboards and try not to lean up against walls. I’ll take the second floor at the far end and you’ll search the ground floor at this end.” 

 

He turned next to Tosh and Owen. “I want you two out here making sure that our furry friend isn’t hiding somewhere on the grounds. The last thing we want is for it to make its way into the village and attack someone. Anyone have any questions?” 

 

Feeling stupid, you tentatively raised your hand. “Yeah, um what are we supposed to do if we find it?” 

 

“I’d like to bring it back to the Hub and set it through the Rift,” Jack told you. “But these guys have a nasty habit of attacking on sight and it’s not worth putting you all at risk. If you find it, you to shoot to kill. A headshot should do it.” He smirked. “Silver bullets won’t be necessary.

 

“I want you all to stay together and watch each other’s back. Use your comms if any of you need help.” 

 

With that, everyone split off in their pairs and made their way to their assigned locations. You wouldn’t hesitate to admit that you felt safe with Gwen and trusted that she wouldn’t let anything get the drop on you. Slowly walking through the dark, abandoned stables with guns at the ready, the two of you talked in hushed tones while stopping occasionally to shine a torch over your shoulders to make sure nothing had snuck up behind you. 

 

Fortunately, you and Gwen only had to search for the werewolf for a little longer than half an hour. Unfortunately, the werewolf had found  _ you _ . 

 

Hearing a low rumble coming from behind Gwen, you aimed your torch toward the direction of the sound and gasped when the beam landed on a pair of glowing orange eyes. 

 

“Gwen!” You screamed. “Behind you!” 

 

The older woman spun around, firing her gun at the alien who looked exactly how you imagined that a werewolf would. She missed the head and the bullet instead hit the creatures upper arm, which caused it to let out a noise that was a cross between a howl and a snarl. 

 

You had been afraid to fire your own gun for fear of hitting Gwen, and you struggled to find an opening. 

 

Gwen raised her gun to shoot again, but the alien lunged past her in your direction and you threw yourself to the side to avoid its slavering jaws. 

 

But before you could rise from your knees, something heavy slammed into you from behind and knocking you back to the ground. You thought that something had collapsed on top of you until four lines of white-hot flames consumed your left shoulder blade and a warm, wet liquid started soaking into your shirt. 

 

A scream was ripped from your throat and you fought to see past the spots that were dancing across your vision. Through the red mist of pain, you were dimly aware of gunshots and Gwen standing close to you, screaming for Jack. 

 

Seconds later, a different sounding gunshot made the alien let out a final snarl and you felt more than saw it collapse heavily to the floor. 

 

Suddenly there were two pairs of hands on your back and you felt them gently rolling them over onto your good shoulder. You saw Jack’s concerned face hovering close to your own and Gwen’s tear-stained one behind it. 

 

“Owen,” She was saying urgently. “Y/N’s hurt. Jack and I are bringing her to the SUV have bandages ready.” 

 

As she spoke, Jack slid his arms under your body and lifted you so that your chest was pressed to his own, with an arm supporting your good shoulder while the injured one was facing away. 

 

He tried to walk quickly and carefully, stepping around or over any obstacles. At one point, he stumbled over the legs of a rotting, wooden chair but managed to stay on his feet.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured when you cried out at the sudden jostling. “We’re almost to the SUV.” 

 

Soon enough, the three of you emerged from the ruins and you closed your eyes against the blissfully cool air against your face. 

 

“Right, first we need to get her jacket off.” Owen’s voice was right next to your head, devoid of it’s usual sarcasm. “I need to see how deep her wounds are.” 

 

Without setting you down, he and Jack managed to wrestle off your jacket and you felt fingers probing the area around your shoulder blade. 

 

“This is going to sting a bit.” You didn’t realize Owen was talking to you until something sharp jabbed into your arm and you yelped. “That should help with the pain until we get back.” 

 

“Alright, everybody in,” Jack ordered. “Here, Owen can you take her and stay in the back?” 

 

Owen took you from Jack’s arms with no complaint, something that rarely ever happened. “Tosh, do you mind riding up front? Gwen and I will have to hold her together in the back.” 

 

“Of course.” From the corner of your eye, you saw Tosh and Jack hurry into the front of the SUV while Owen and Gwen loaded you into the back. Your torso rested against Owen’s while your legs lay across Gwen’s lap. 

 

As Jack sped off back towards Cardiff, Owen began laying bandages from his medic bag on your wounds. 

 

“How’s she doing?” Jack called over his shoulder. 

 

“Honestly, Jack? She’s right damn lucky her arm is even still attached to her body. The gouges aren’t deep enough to cause any permanent damage but she’s still lost a fair amount of blood. The sooner we get back the better.” 

 

Maybe it was just whatever drugs you had been given kicking in, but you could’ve sworn you heard unmistakeable air of worry in Owen’s voice when he answered. 

 

“Y/N? You with me?” 

 

You groaned. 

 

“How do you feel right now?”

 

“Hurts.” You didn’t need to see his face to know that he rolled his eyes. 

 

“Yes, I know it hurts. But how else?”

 

You thought a moment before answering. “Cold. And tired.” 

 

“Shit. Gwen, can you feel around for a blanket? I think there’s one under your seat.” A few moments later, you were covered with a heavy, wool blanket, which you gratefully snuggled under. 

 

“Listen to me,” Owen directed, his words both quiet and urgent. “Try and stay awake, okay? We’re going to be back soon and I promise everything will be fine. But until then, I need you to keep your eyes open. Understand?”

You nodded weakly.  

 

Gwen kept a hand resting on one of your legs and she rubbed it back and forth soothingly. As often as she could get on your nerves with her superior attitude, you were grateful for the action. 

 

“Ianto,” Jack spoke into his comms. “We’re about twenty minutes away. I need you to make sure that the medbay is clear for Owen;  Y/N’s hurt.” 

 

Soon, you felt the SUV beneath you skid to a stop and Owen lifted you in his arms again, walking with you quickly through the Hub and down to the medbay.

 

Careful not to jostle your injured shoulder, he laid you stomach-down on the autopsy table, the cold metal biting into your skin through the thin material of your blouse. 

 

As you watched Owen pulling open various drawers, Ianto quietly slid a folded up towel under your head so that your cheek was no longer pressed against the hard surface.

 

Owen hung a bag of clear fluid on a pole, which he positioned at the head of the table, and began connecting a long tube to it. Then, he lifted your good arm and wrapped a long strip of rubber tightly around your bicep. After lightly slapping the crook of your elbow, you watched as he slid a long, thin needle connected to the tube into a vein. Instantly, you felt a coldness slowly spreading through your arm. 

 

He took a step back and studied you, catching his breath. “Ianto,” he asked. “Will you stay here with Y/N? I’m going to go check out Gwen and make sure she’s okay.”

 

“Yes, of course I will. But what about Y/N?” 

 

You lifted your head slightly. “Gwen’s hurt too?” 

 

Owen nodded. “Busted her wrist a bit. But it’s not bad, I reckon only a sprain.” 

 

To Ianto he answered. “I don’t want to take off the bandages until she’s got some fluids back in her. The bleeding’s probably stopped by now, but I don’t want her losing more than she has to.” 

 

He turned around and jogged up the medbay steps leaving Ianto sitting in a chair by your side and you feeling guilty that you hadn’t known Gwen had gotten hurt until Owen said something. 

 

Ianto noticed you shivering and fetched a thin blanket closeby, which he draped over you. 

 

“Thanks,” you mumbled.    
  


The Welshman gave you a warm smile before sitting back in his chair. 

About ten minutes later, Owen returned. “Like I said, only a sprain,” he announced as he gathered tools from drawers and cabinets.

 

Jack appeared a couple moments later and leaned against the table on his forearms, his usual cocky smirk on his face. “Hey there, kiddo. How ya feeling?”  

 

You grinned. “Hey, boss. Actually, I’m not feeling much at all right now. Owen must’ve given me the good stuff.” 

 

“Well, I hope so,” Jack laughed. “Holding out would just be cruel. But I’ve got a feeling that you’ll be pretty miserable once they wear off so I want you to take the next couple of days off.” 

 

He turned to Ianto. “Tosh and Gwen just left. Ready to go home and maybe uh, ‘de-stress’ a bit?” 

 

“Whenever you are, Sir,” Ianto said, rising to his feet. Owen sniggered off to the side and Ianto blushed violently, which made Jack chuckle. 

 

Jack placed a gentle hand on the small of your back. “As for you, I want you resting.” He stood. “Alright, I’m leaving you in the good doctor’s hands now.” 

 

You felt fear begin to swirl around in the pit of your stomach as you watched Jack head up the stairs with Ianto behind him. This was one thing that you had been dreading since you joined the team; being left alone with Owen, who seemed to despise you. 

 

He had been pretty good up until this point, and you’d assumed it was just his doctor instincts kicking in when he saw your injuries. But now that it was just the two of you, you feared that he would go back to his usual impatient and irritable self. 

 

He stayed silent as he finished collecting the supplies that he needed and he returned to the table, placing an assortment of sharp objects a few inches from your face on a rolling table. 

 

He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’m going to have to cut your shirt off.” 

 

You felt your cheeks get warm at thought of Owen seeing you so exposed but you nodded anyways.    
  


Taking a pair of small medical scissors, he began cutting apart the thin fabric so he could easily access your wounds. When he finished, he balled up the bloody, tattered garment and tossed it in the rubbish bin. Your left bra strap soon joined it. 

 

“Alright then,” he said after he replaced the now-empty bag on the IV pole. “Let’s take a peek.” 

 

As he carefully peeled the gauze bandages off your shoulder, trying not to disrupt the gashing and cause the bleeding to resume, you waited for him to make some crude comment about your body. But oddly, the hurtful comment that you had been bracing yourself for never came. 

 

He studied the damage for a few moments. “Well,” he observed. “It’s certainly not as bad as it looks. Or feels,” he added as an afterthought. “First thing, though, it to clean it up before I do anything.” 

 

Humming to himself, he unscrewed a large bottle whose label you saw read hydrogen peroxide. He trickled the liquid over your skin and a bright flare of pain broke through the haze of drugs that you had been trapped in, causing you to cry out as your eyes flew open. 

 

Instantly, Owen placed a hand on the back of your neck, which you imagined was more of an attempt to keep you from making your wounds bleed again. 

 

But then he surprised you when he began shushing you. “It’s alright,” he said calmly. “I should have warned you. But it’ll keep your shoulder from getting infected which, believe me, is the last thing you want right now.” 

 

“Okay,” you panted after a few moments. “I’m good.” 

 

As soon as you said the words, Owen wasted no time in removing his hand from your neck. Taking a fresh wad of gauze, he started to wipe the dried blood from your skin. Although his face stayed neutral, you could tell that he was making an effort to dab the area around each slash as lightly as he could. 

 

The rubbish bin grew full with blood-stained bandages and the smell of antiseptic was strong in your nostrils. You hadn’t even noticed that you were starting to drift off until Owen’s voice suddenly snapped you back to attention. 

 

“You’re not afraid of needles are anything, are you?” 

 

You blinked. “No, I’m not.” 

 

“Lovely,” said he said casually. “I didn’t want to have to sedate you if you flipped out on me.” You were confused about why he was asking you if you were afraid of needles since he’d stuck you with two already. But then he brought a considerably sized hook clamped between the jaws of a needle driver. 

 

“Ever had stitches before?” Owen asked as he began guiding a black thread through the looped end of the needle.

 

“Never.” Your voice sounded small even to you. The thought of a thread being pulled through your skin over and over again made you extremely wary. 

 

The corner of Owen’s mouth pulled up very slightly. “It’s not too unbearable. You need quite a few though, so just lay back and relax. Ready?”

 

You nodded and settled your cheek back against the towel. Strangely, as often as he had bullied you and singled you out, you trusted that he would never intentionally do anything that would cause you physical harm 

 

He braced a hand on your lower back and leaned closer to your shoulder. You grimaced when you felt the sharp metal puncture your skin and a sickening tug as the thread was slid through the hole. 

 

It didn’t hurt much at all, but the lack of pain didn’t stop your stomach from lurching every time you felt the gashes in your skin being pulled close. 

 

At first, you had kept your eyes trained on the tiled wall of the medbay across from you, but after a while your eyes began unconsciously wandering to Owen’s face. 

 

The young doctor was completely focused on his task and you smiled slightly at the way the tip of his tongue stuck out of his mouth in his intense concentration. He was close enough to you that each time he exhaled, his warm breath blew across the exposed skin of your back. 

 

The hand that was resting on your spine was warm too, and compared to the chilly air of the Hub, it seemed to sear deep into your body.  

 

“Owen,” you asked quietly. 

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“Do you get tired of this?” 

 

His eyes flickered to look at you, an eyebrow raised questioningly. “Tired of what?”

 

“This. You know, all the blood and gore and having to see it everyday.” 

 

Owen chuckled. “Nah. You learn to get over the gory bits pretty quickly. And as for this,” he inclined his head towards your shoulder. “I suppose it doesn’t bother me anymore because it’s my job. Otherwise who else is going to keep the incompetent newcomers like you from getting yourselves ripped to pieces.” 

 

You felt hurt welling up inside of you until you caught sight of the half smile he wore.  

 

As Owen continued working, you felt yourself relaxing. His touch, though firm and steady, was gentle and reassuring. You decided that you liked this side of Owen. The side that he kept guarded and didn’t allow anyone else to see. You weren’t sure if it was because he was so distracted by your injuries or if he just didn’t care whether or not you saw. 

 

Almost an hour later, the last stitch had been secured and fresh bandages were taped to your shoulder. Jack had left you one of his button up shirts and Owen helped you into it, respectfully averting his eyes when you sat up from the table. 

 

Then he fit you into a sling, to keep you from trying anything stupid and tearing the stitches, he later explained. He grabbed a set of keys off of his desk and slipped them in his pocket before instructing you to stand slowly. 

 

He stayed by your side as you took small steps, not touching you, but obviously ready to reach out of you started to fall. When you were buckled into the passenger seat of the SUV, he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. 

 

“I’m not entirely sure where you live, so you’ll have to give me directions,” he admitted as he pulled the SUV out onto the road. It was a quiet car ride, the silence broken only to give the occasionally correction about which street to turn down, but it wasn’t an awkward one. 

 

When you had just reached your flat, you groaned. 

 

Owen looked at you worriedly. “What? What’s wrong?”

 

“My keys were in my jacket pocket,” you sighed. “And I never gave any of my neighbors a spare.” 

 

The doctor visibly relaxed. “Don’t worry, I have one here.” 

 

You stared at him. “But how? I only have one.” 

 

“Yeah well, Jack had one made when you first joined. Torchwood protocol and all.” 

 

“Oh.” You felt slightly miffed that Jack had access to your flat without you knowing about it. 

 

Owen helped you to your front door and unlocked it with ease. You couldn’t help smiling a bit when he had to grope around the walls for the light switch. He kicked off his trainers and waited while you removed your own. 

 

Gazing up the stairs, you dreaded how long it would take you to reach the top in your condition. You must’ve looked quite pathetic because suddenly you heard Owen sigh behind you and then you felt yourself being lifted up off the ground.

Startled, you yelped and clutched the front of his jacket, feeling his chest vibrate under your fingers as he chuckled yet again at you. 

 

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m not going to let you fall down the stairs.” He had only called you ‘sweetheart’ when he was mocking you and your breath caught to hear him say in a context that wasn’t sarcastic or cruel. 

 

He carried you with ease up your narrow stairs and into your bedroom, placing you gently in a sitting position on the edge of your bed. Your pyjamas from the previous night were folded neatly at the foot of your bed and he unhooked the strap of your sling, freeing your arm. 

 

“I’ll be right outside if you think you can change on your own,” he said. “Just shout if you need help. And take it easy with that arm. It’s not fun getting the same area stitched up twice.” 

 

You waited until he had shut the door behind him to begin pulling off your trousers and borrowed shirt. It took longer than you would’ve liked, but you still weren’t sure that you trusted Owen enough to call him in for help taking off your pants, which had little dancing pandas on them. 

 

He may have been uncharacteristically nice and patient with  you tonight, but you were certain that you would be faced with more than a few jokes when you returned to work.  

 

When you were finally wearing your pyjamas you called his name to let him know you were okay. He pulled back your (f/c) duvet and helped you crawl underneath your sheets. 

 

He stood and cleared his throat once you were comfortable. “Well, I, uh, put my number into your phone earlier so if anything happens or something doesn’t feel right with your shoulder just give me a call and I’ll come check it out. Oh, and here.” He placed two pills in your hand in a glass of water in the other. 

 

“This should knock you out for at least twelve hours. I figure the sun will be up soon and might make it harder for you to sleep,” he explained as you obediently swallowed the pills. He took the empty glass and placed it on your nightstand. “Well, goodnight then.” 

 

He turned to leave as you settled back against your pillows. 

 

“Owen!” You called, right before he shut your door. He stopped, and looked at you questioningly. “Um, thank you.”

 

For the first time since you met him, a warm genuine smile pulled up the edges of Owen’s mouth. “You’re welcome, newbie. Sleep tight.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Jack Harkness/Tenth Doctor/Reader: Perfect to Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another request! 
> 
> Please don't read if you're triggered by mentions/descriptions of eating disorders. <3

Frowning, you adjusted your skirt yet again and checked your reflection in the mirror before you. 

Still fat. 

You’d tried everything; tugging the garment lower and higher on your hips, tucking and untucking your blouse, even changing blouses and skirts. But it seemed like you were left with two options and they were to either expose your fat thighs or the pudge around your middle. 

People had told you before that you should be grateful for having “curves” and a “full-figure”. But it didn’t matter what they called it because you only saw it as silent hint that you could lose some weight. 

For as long as you could remember, you’d never been as skinny as your friends and always felt like the odd one out during warm weather with them in shorts and crop tops and you in trousers and a T-shirt. Every time you saw another girl you found yourself wishing that all the parts of your own body that you hated could be miraculously replaced with theirs. 

Finding an outfit that didn’t emphasize your weight was a daily struggle that only intensified when you began traveling with the Doctor. 

You’d learned pretty quickly that being the Doctor’s companion came with ungodly amounts of running, a task that was by no means easy to do in a skirt or dress. So, trousers became a necessity. 

You weren’t going to lie; it was a little embarrassing when the Doctor had to slow down because you couldn’t keep up and you felt bad about it. The Doctor never mentioned either your size or your speed, something for which you were grateful. 

But when Jack Harkness joined the two of you one day, that was when you began to feel self-conscious. He flirted with you, of course, but it meant nothing to you because Jack flirted with everyone. 

It was soon after that when you decided that you were going to drop your weight no matter the cost. 

It started with eating smaller portions at meals. You dropped a couple of pounds in the first two weeks but nothing noticeable. Then you cut out most of your favourite junk foods and switched to diet soda instead of regular. 

You lost even more weight and noticed that your clothes weren’t so snug on you but it still wasn’t enough. So then you started eating as little as you possibly could without the Doctor or Jack thinking anything of it. 

You’d been doing it for a month now and, staring at your reflection, you grudgingly admitted that your body looked the best it ever had. However, there was still much more room for improvement. 

A sudden knock at your bedroom door broke you out of your thoughts. 

“You almost ready in there or what?” You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Jack’s voice drifting through the wood. 

“Yeah!” You called back. “Just a sec!” 

After a few seconds of digging around in the enormous closet the TARDIS had provided you with, you slipped on a pair of cute heels. With one final image check in the mirror, you hurried over to your door and pulled it open to reveal a grinning Jack leaning against the frame. 

He looked like he was about to say something, but he froze at the sight of you as his eyes slowly roved over your appearance. 

Feeling self-conscious under his gaze, you awkwardly crossed your arms over your chest as a sudden fear that you had worn the wrong thing flooded through you. 

“Um, wow,” Jack said, still looking taken aback. “You, you look great.” As quickly as it had faded, his cocky grin returned to his face, and he relaxed back into his usual self. 

“Thanks,” you said shyly, averting your eyes and feeling your cheeks growing warm. 

Jack offered his arm, which you took lightly. “C’mon the Doctor’s waiting for us.” 

As you walked together down the corridor, you took advantage of the silence between you to focus on not tripping or otherwise making an idiot of yourself. 

The Doctor spun around when you and Jack entered the console room, a goofy smile lighting up his face. “Oh good!” He exclaimed happily. “You’re ready!” 

Jack gently disengaged his arm from yours to retrieve his long, grey wool coat from where it hung over a coral arch and slipped it on. 

“So do either of you want to explain why I had to get all dressed up?” You asked as the Doctor punched a few commands into the console. 

“Jack and I decided that we wanted to take you someplace special,” the Doctor answered. You patiently waited for further elaboration but he only pulled on his own coat. “Shall we go?” 

Jack winked as you followed the Doctor out of the TARDIS, a knowing look on his face. 

When you stepped outside of the blue police box, you couldn’t stop the gasp that was released. Slowly turning in a circle, you took in the incredible scene that lay before you. 

People, wearing attire from every time period, strolled along through the wide, busy cobblestone street lined with various shops and buildings that also appeared to have no distinct era. 

“What is this place?” You asked wonderingly, as a woman wearing a Victorian dress walked past hand in hand with a man in a tuxedo. 

“Well,” said the Doctor, coming to stand next to you. “It’s proper name is a bit difficult to say, but translates quite well to ‘Place of the Past’.” 

You must have looked quite confused still because Jack suddenly appeared on your other side. “This place, it’s not exactly a planet. It’s more like a dimension. It contains slices all throughout the history of mankind, so in a way, you’re looking at all of history all at once. Hence the clashing apparel.” He nodded at a pair of men, one in a kilt and the other in the uniform of a Roman soldier. 

He and the Doctor let you marvel a few minutes longer before taking your elbow and gently turning you around to face the other end of the street. “We want to be going this way,” he told you, his tone laced with amusement. 

You walked between Jack and the Doctor, occasionally bumping into them after getting jostled by the people around you and swiveling your head around to read the signs hanging above the shops. 

It could have been any number of minutes before the three of you stopped abruptly in front of a grand, elegant building nestled between a blacksmith’s and fancy hat shop. Your eyes widened at the name above the doors. 

“The Ritz?” 

Jack’s grin grew wider. “In all it’s glory.” 

You were speechless at the interior of the hotel as Jack led you through the lobby and down a few corridors into the most tasteful ballroom you’d ever seen, covered in marble carvings and gold embellishments.

“Mind if I steal her for a bit, Doctor?” Jack asked. 

The Doctor tilted his head and smiled at you before nodding. “Sure. But only if I can steal her back after.” 

Before you could ask what was going on, Jack had wrapped an arm around your waist and led you across the polished wood floors to join the other couples gliding to the music of the orchestra at the front of the room. 

“Jack,” you gasped as he pulled you close and clasped your hand. “Jack, I can’t dance.” 

“You can with me.” 

You were about to protest further but the words disappeared from your mind as he swept the two of you around in even, graceful circles. He kept the pace of the waltz slow at first, allowing you to match his own steps, and when you no longer stumbled, he released your waist once in a while to twirl you around. 

You didn’t know for sure how long you danced with Jack, only that he made you feel weightless in his arms. A brief pang of disappointment speared through you when the dancing ceased, but it was quickly replaced with excitement when the Doctor’s hands replaced Jack’s. 

While the Doctor was an excellent dancer himself, the pace he set was slower and more fluid than Jack’s had been. He, too, made you feel as if you weighed nothing and just as before, it all ended too soon. 

You hadn’t realized how late it was until somewhere a clock gave eleven chimes and the orchestra concluded the final song of the night. 

Jack, who had been leaning against a wall after a rare failed attempt to charm a handsome young man into sharing a drink with him, grinned broadly in your direction as you and the Doctor made your way across the dance floor with the slowly dispersing crowd. 

“I don’t know about you two,” he announced as the three of you exited the ballroom. “But all this partying has made me quite ravenous.” 

“Food sounds like an excellent idea,” the Doctor agreed. “How about you, (Y/N)?”

The mention of eating had not only brought back the self-consciousness, but also a sharp pang in your stomach that made you realize just how hungry you were. The last thing you could recall eating was two handfuls of nuts and a bottle of vitaminwater….two days ago. 

“Hmm?” you asked, forcing the most convincing smile you could manage. “Oh, yeah. Food sounds great.” 

Jack and the Doctor briefly exchanged a look, but said nothing and once again, the three of you set off back into the street. 

Across from the Ritz stood a brightly lit diner straight from the fifties. Despite the late hour, it was quite full and it took a minute before the Doctor spotted an empty booth, which you slid into next to Jack. 

Looking over the menu that the waitress had brought over, your stomach churned uncomfortably at the prospect of ordering. You knew you should ask for a plain garden salad without dressing and a water, but your eyes kept wandering over to the list of burgers and other fried foods. 

“What can I get ya, hon?” 

Suddenly you heard yourself answering, “I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger with chips and a strawberry milkshake, please.” 

After she left with the orders, Jack and the Doctor turned to small talk. You made sure to smile and nod your head every once in awhile, all the while regretting your choices. You vaguely heard an Elvis song pulsing out of the glowing jukebox in the corner and your stomach growled at the smells drifting in the seating area from the constantly swinging kitchen doors. 

Twenty minutes later, plates of hot food were placed on the table in front of you. Jack and the Doctor immediately started on their own meals, and you knew it would look odd if you didn’t do the same, so you hesitantly picked up a chip and took a small bite. 

Immediately, saliva flooded your mouth and all the regret disappeared as your hunger won out. It was so good. Better than anything you could remember eating lately and you knew right away that you were going to finish it all. 

It didn’t take you long either, and in a little less than hour you, Jack, and the Doctor were happily making your way back to the TARDIS. It was nearly 1 AM now and the stars twinkled brightly over the nearly empty street. 

Walking side by side with Jack and the Doctor, you were feeling quite good about yourself as the TARDIS came into view. That is, until a young woman around your age walked past in a crimson Renaissance gown and your attention was drawn straight to her slender waist. 

Your eyes filled with tears that you quickly tried to blink away as guilt surged into you. Why did you have to eat that food? 

“(Y/N)?” You were suddenly aware of Jack holding your upper arm, a concerned look on his face. “Are you alright?”   
Right away the Doctor turned around from unlocking the TARDIS, his face mirroring Jack’s. 

“Yeah,” you managed to get out. “Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t think dinner is agreeing with me.” 

It wasn’t a total lie; you were indeed fighting down waves of nausea that your self-hatred seemed to have brought along. 

The Doctor worriedly held the door open as you stumbled into the console room with Jack still holding on to you. 

“Do you want to take anything to help with it?” Jack asked, his eyebrows knitting closer together. 

“No, thank you,” you smiled weakly. “I’m just gonna go put my pyjamas on and then go to bed. I’ll be okay after that.” You were planning on doing what you always did whenever you broke down and ate too much. 

Please don’t say you’ll come with me, you prayed in your head as Jack stared at you unconvincingly. Please don’t say you’ll come with me. 

It was with reluctance that he finally released you. “Okay,” he said carefully. “Just promise you’ll call us you need anything.” 

You didn’t trust yourself to speak so all you did was nod your agreement before hurrying down the corridor towards your bedroom, the TARDIS helping you along in her own, quiet way by making it the first door you chose to open. 

The first of the tears fell as you stripped off your clothes and snatched the old tank and shorts you used as pyjamas. Then you staggered into the huge bathroom, locking the door behind you and falling to your knees in front of the toilet. 

You didn’t even need to stick your finger down your throat because as soon as you opened your mouth to release the first sob, your dinner made a reappearance. 

Over and and over again your body convulsed while you clutched the rim of the toilet bowl and choked on both tears partially digested food. 

When the spasms stopped, you induced them once more until the contents of your stomach were emptied and only bile was coming up. 

Exhausted, you slumped forward with your cheek resting against the cool porcelain and the bitter taste of vomit coating your mouth. 

“(Y/N)? What’s going on in there?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut as another sob rose in your chest.

When he received no answer, he pounded against the door. “(Y/N)?!” Then you heard him say, “She’s in here. Come get it open!” 

“How many times do I have to tell you?” The Doctor’s voice joined Jack’s. “It doesn’t work on wood!” 

“Oh, for the love of-” With the sound of splintering wood, the door suddenly flew inwards and the two men were immediately at your side. 

Neither of them said anything as they took in you shivering, broken form. Then, Jack gently wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you away from the toilet into his chest. 

Kneeling beside you, the Doctor gingerly wiped the bile and tears from your face with a warm, damp flannel.

“Did you do this?” Jack asked quietly as he smoothed back your sweat-dampened hair. He phrased it as a question, but from the tone of his voice and the sad look in the Doctor’s eyes, it was clear that they both knew the answer already. 

“Yes.” Your voice came out in a broken whisper and suddenly your tears were uncontrollable once more. 

You couldn’t bear to think what they thought of you know, how weak and selfish they must’ve thought of you. 

“This has been going on now for a while, hasn’t it?” 

Sniffling, you only nodded your head. 

For a few seconds there was silence, but then came another question, this time asked by the Doctor.

“Why?” 

A sob escaped you. “Because I thought that if I did it for long enough I would finally be as skinny as I should be.”

You had expected a rebuttal, or worse, more silence. Instead, the Doctor’s sudden laugh made you jump in surprise. 

“(Y/N),” he said. “You are skinny enough.”

You merely stared at him. Could he not see it? Could he not see how ugly you were compared to other girls? 

“I know you think he’s lying,” Jack’s voice spoke softly in your ear. “I know you think he’s trying to make you feel better. But (Y/N), it’s the truth.” 

“It’s not,” you said miserably. 

“It is,” the Doctor insisted. He reached forward and carefully took your face between his hands, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “You don’t look like anyone else because you’re not anyone else. You’re you, and you look exactly the way you are supposed to.” 

“And you look perfect to us.” Jack finished. 

And so, wrapped in Jack’s arms with the Doctor’s lips pressed against your forehead, you found yourself believing their words.


End file.
